


Proud; Possessive

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing Lessons, First Kiss, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Party, Wilde-typical flirting, canon-typical responses to Wilde-typical flirting, mutual idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 21:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18322094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: Five times Wilde was too damn flirtatious for his own good.(And one time he left well-enough alone.)





	1. five

**Author's Note:**

> APRIL FOOLS!! EVERYTHING'S GREAT AND ZOLF'S STILL THERE!!!! 
> 
> Listen, I'm not saying Wilde (if given the opportunity) would flirt outrageously with every male member of the party because he likes making people uncomfortable. That's ridiculous. Of course not. Why would I be saying that? The thought is absurd. But. I'm not... _not..._ saying that...  
> This whole thing takes place in a dumb au. Because it's me. So of course it does. Working Title: _as oscar wilde once said, "fuck men"_

**[one]**

It's not that Hamid is possessive. He isn't! And it isn't that Hamid is overprotective, either. But there is _something_ about the crooked smirk that Oscar Wilde has on that makes Hamid's blood _boil_. And maybe it's because Oscar is annoying, but probably it's because the smirk is directed at _Zolf._

Hamid knows that Zolf probably wants nothing more than to deck Oscar across the face. Hamid knows, for a fact, that Zolf _can't_ because they're in public, and they need to keep up the High Society image so they'll have a shot at forging invitations to the elite auction happening at the end of the next month. Hamid knows that he can't go rescue his friend (he _doesn't_ know that Zolf needs to be rescued) because Hamid's too busy making sure Sasha doesn't stab any partygoers. 

(He's _also_ supposed to be making sure Bertie doesn't make a fool of himself in front of any partygoers, but Bertie ran off with a waiter half an hour ago, so Hamid assumes he's too preoccupied to do anything too outrageous.)

Sasha asks him something, but Hamid doesn't take his eyes off of Oscar. "Mm-hm," he agrees, and he wants _very much_ to change Oscar's blazer from its current stately green to a disgusting shade of orange. Sasha asks something else. "Hm," he answers, already trying to figure out who he could blame for such an event. Sasha says something. "Really?" he asks conversationally, and then something jabs at his shoulder. "Ow!"

Sasha raises her eyebrow at him. She's still holding the dessert fork she'd used to stab him with. Stab lightly, of course, but still _stab._ "I warned you," she tells him, "I said, 'Hamid, I'm going to stab you with a prawn fork if you don't stop staring'. And you didn't stop staring."

Hamid raises his own eyebrows. "Sasha, that's a dessert fork." Sasha shrugs, pocketing it. He fixes her with a frown. She mutters unhappily to herself before putting it back on the table. "And I'm very sorry for not listening to you, I'm just a bit—" Oscar laughs, the sound carrying over the rest of the partygoers' conversations— "distracted."

Hamid can't help but look back over. Oscar is still smirking that _crooked smirk_ as he bends down and blatantly invades Zolf's personal space. (Hamid doesn't have any actual proof that Zolf isn't a willing participant in this conversation.) Hamid bites back a growl. Sasha shrugs and leans on the buffet table. "Yeah, that suit is pretty distracting. I don't know how you could do any sort of sneaking in that thing. I could stab him if you wanted. Then he'd have to change."

"Please do not stab anyone," Hamid repeats for the twenty-third time that evening. Sasha sighs disappointedly for the fifty-second time that evening. "It's not even the suit, it's the man inside it." Sasha squints across the ballroom to Oscar. He and Zolf are having a discussion, now, and Oscar is contorting his face into exaggerations of sadness and innocence.

(Hamid kind of wants to punch him.)

Sasha pops a prawn into her mouth, not even bothering to take off the shell. Hamid cringes at the loud _crunch_. "I could still stab him," she offers, mouth full.

Hamid snaps, "Don't talk with your mouth full," and forgets to say anything else until he sees Sasha pick up the dessert fork. He grabs her wrist and hisses, _"Please do not stab anyone."_ Sasha pouts at him.

Someone walks up behind them, and Hamid is going to move aside to let them get at the buffet, but Sasha chimes in, "Oh, hey, Boss."

"I'm going to find a supply closet," Zolf tells them under his breath, "and I'm going to _drown Wilde in a mop bucket."_ Hamid makes a sympathetic noise. And maybe — _maybe,_ not that he'll ever admit it out loud — the hand he puts on Zolf's back is more jealous than it is supportive. (Jealous about _what,_ Hamid couldn't tell you if he tried, but he knows that clawing at his heart well enough by now to name the feeling that causes it.) Zolf doesn't comment, so Hamid figures it doesn't really matter.

Sasha offers him a bit of finger food she's speared on a toothpick. Zolf waves a hand in dismissal, so Sasha shrugs and pops it into her mouth. "What'd he do?" she asks. Hamid fixes her with a _look_ until she remembers to chew with her mouth closed.

Zolf sighs and— okay, he doesn't _lean into_ Hamid, that's just Hamid's overactive imagination, but he does shift slightly closer. "If I never hear another pickup line, it'll be too soon," he says. 

(If the hand on his back tightens possessively, neither of them mention it.)

Sasha swallows her food (thank gods) before offering, "I have, like, six knives on. I could really easily just—"

"No stabbing," Zolf repeats for the thirtieth time that evening. Sasha sighs disappointedly for the fifty-third time that evening.

 

**[two]**

 

"I'm just saying," says Oscar, leaning over the table between them, "it would do your public image _wonders_ if Hamid and I attended this event by ourselves." Hamid glares at him. Their public image is doing just fine, thanks to Oscar's editorials and Hamid's interviews.

He's about to inform their contact of this (in as patronising a tone he can manage without getting called out on it) when Zolf asks, "And what would it do for _your_ public image, Wilde?" Oscar scoffs. Zolf smiles at him, thin-lipped and as close to patronising as he can manage without being called out on it. "For the sake of full disclosure." There's something like a challenge in Zolf's words, and Hamid has to stifle a grin.

Oscar leans back, and the smile on his face is so clearly plastered there that Hamid has to fake a cough into his elbow so that he doesn't laugh. "Wonders, I'm sure. Hamid is a very... _charming_ young man." Oscar looks him up and down at that. It's all an act, of course, a shallow show of interest that is almost certainly fabricated, but it still makes Hamid bristle.

Bertie bristles as well, something like a snarl echoing from his throat, and Hamid puts a hand over the knight's. (Hamid doesn't know what exactly it is that Oscar and Bertie have going on, and he's certainly not going to open that can of worms if he can help it.) "With all due respect, Oscar, I'm not a prop to be used. I'm also not anywhere near as skilled in reconnaissance as my associates. Seeing as this party is most likely a front for the auctioneering of the Simulacrum, I'm not sure how much use I would be on my own." Bertie squeezes his hand in approval. Oscar's smile stays where it is, but the flirtatious light in his eyes dims.

"Yes," Oscar concedes, "I suppose so."

(Hamid's sure he imagines the relief on Zolf's face.)

 

**[three]**

 

Neither Zolf nor Sasha actually knows how to dance. Which is an interesting challenge, considering Bertie's refusal to dance with anyone he can't hit on (he's no help for lessons, so he's been put in charge of the music) and Zolf's refusal to dance at all. 

(Read: unless Hamid absolutely _begs_ him to.)

Sasha's about two feet taller than Hamid, and she's significantly worse at the steps, but they manage, somehow. They're managing _on their own,_ of course, no nobles or emissaries to see them stumble through an allemande in the den of a hotel room in Montpellier. Oscar is there — seems he always is, these days, much to Bertie's delight (and somehow also annoyance?) — badly stifling his laughter. "No, _left_ hand," Hamid corrects, and Sasha huffs in frustration.

She mutters, "Don't see why I can't just hide in the vents," but she does the movement again. With her left hand, this time, and Hamid beams up at her. She's focused squarely on their intertwined hands. He can hear Oscar saying something, but he loses Hamid's attention when Sasha steps on his foot. Hamid only yelps a little bit. Sasha flinches back, quickly picking her foot up. "Like the dart trap," she whispers to herself. Hamid looks at her worriedly, but she's got her eyes closed. She tries again, and it goes much more smoothly. 

(Hamid decides not to ask what kind of dart trap she encountered.)

"Hamid, I'm afraid I don't know this dance very well," says Oscar. It's so obviously a lie, Hamid doesn't even bother trying not to roll his eyes. Oscar doesn't give up, though, just asks, "Would you mind teaching me?" Sasha raises an eyebrow at Hamid like she's saying, _should I let him?_ Hamid shakes his head minutely, trying to convey _keep dancing._

But something must have gotten missed in one of their translations, because Sasha takes a step back, already at the back of the room with Zolf and Bertie. Oscar takes a step forward, and Hamid sighs. "I'm afraid the height difference—" but Oscar takes his hand, and Bertie restarts the record. "This really would be simpler if Bertie were the one doing this with you," Hamid tells him in a bid to get the mage off of him. Oscar just smiles, though, and Hamid grits his teeth. He doesn't know why he thought their handler would be so easily dissuaded. 

Oscar, to Hamid's immense frustration, is actually quite good at the allemande. He knows when each shift happens, the exact right moment to turn, and his footwork is annoyingly perfect. The worst part is, Oscar seems to know it. When the song draws to a close, he smirks down at Hamid.

(Hamid wants _so badly_ to Magic Missile that smug look off of his face.)

Oscar squeezes Hamid's hand. He purrs, "You're an outstanding teacher, Mr al-Tahan," and Hamid very nearly gags. He yanks his hand away as subtly as he can manage and stuffs it in his pocket. He considers, for a brief moment, what exactly the man would do if Hamid excused himself to wash his hands.

Zolf clears his throat and says, "Wilde, when you're done showing off, I _do_ still need to learn the steps." Oscar's smile slides off his face. He raises an eyebrow at Hamid like he's saying, _can you believe this?_ Hamid looks back at him like he's saying, _please go away._

Oscar sighs and takes a step away from Hamid. "I think I've learned well enough to help you," he says as though it's a great sacrifice, to be dancing with Zolf. He holds out his hand. Hamid's nails (which he'd worked very hard to keep as nails instead of claws throughout the dance) dig into his palms in a way that is _distinctly_ claw-like. Something jagged and suffocating roils in his chest, tightening like a vice around his ribcage.

(It's been happening a lot, recently: the jealousy, the possessiveness, the absurdly _protective_ urges that aren't necessary in the least.)

Sasha grabs Oscar's outstretched hand. (She wasn't there a second ago, and Oscar jumps when she tugs him to the other side of the room.) "Yeah," she announces as she marches him out of Hamid's way, "c'mon, then. _I_ need to practice, my, uh... my... spins? Spins, yeah, my _spins,_ with someone who's not tiny. No offence, Hamid." Hamid smiles at her gratefully, but Sasha doesn't pay him any mind. Oscar looks like he's trying to protest; Sasha hisses something at him, and he settles down.

Zolf raises an eyebrow at them, already sniping at each other. He turns back to Hamid (not looking him in the eye) and fidgets with his ring. "So," he mumbles self-consciously, "left hand?" It's the first time Zolf has ever agreed to dance of his own volition.

(The jagged suffocation lessens, turns brilliant and burning, fills Hamid's heart up with something molten. _Mine,_ crows the jealousy and the possessiveness and the protectiveness reverberating through Hamid's bones, _mine, mine, mine.)_

(Hamid will examine that when he's less preoccupied.)

Hamid smiles softly. "Left hand," he agrees, taking the hand in question and nodding for Bertie to start the record once more.

 

**[four]**

 

Hamid may not be the most perceptive person in the group, but he still notices the way Oscar is making sure to sit next to Bertie. Hamid also notices how Bertie has been a good deal less threatening for their conference. (Oscar said something comparing planning to a dinner date, and Sasha missed the 'date' bit, and. Well, here they are. At least Oscar's paying.) It seems like their off-again/on-again relationship is back on. Hamid wagers it'll be off by the next article Oscar publishes.

Zolf nudges his ankle under the table. Hamid cocks his head subtly. Zolf mouths, _"Are they_ flirting _right now?"_ with a mildly horrified look on his face. Hamid has to stifle a giggle into his drink. 

There _does_ seem to be an unconscionable amount of innuendo being slung across the table, and Hamid sighs. _"They're flirting in legalese,"_ Hamid mouths back, and Zolf grimaces.

 _"Ew."_ Hamid nods in agreement and turns to Sasha to get her opinion, or to see if she's even noticed. Her seat is empty; her food is completely untouched. Hamid considers briefly that she might have gone to the restroom, but then he decides that, well, the food's all right there, and they're most likely going to be leaving soon. Waste not, want not. He stacks her full plate on top of his empty one, and Zolf raises an amused eyebrow at him. Hamid shrugs.

Zolf reaches across the table and snatches one of the green beans. Hamid clicks his tongue scoldingly, but the sound is lost underneath the chattering of all the other patrons. (It's probably muffled by Hamid's fond smile, anyway.) Zolf grins at him as he takes a bite.

Sasha makes a mildly dismayed noise, back in her seat, before grabbing a handful of green beans for herself. So low Hamid has to strain to hear it, she grumbles, "Leave you two alone for a second and suddenly you're flirting over my plate." 

Hamid smacks her shoulder.

 

**[five]**

 

The host frowns at Oscar, but Oscar doesn't seem the least bit perturbed. Hamid thinks that maybe he should be, seeing as they desperately need not to be kicked out before they can investigate. It's Oscar's mission, he really ought to care. The auctioneering should be happening in three days, if the letter Sasha had nicked had been correctly decoded, and they can't stand to slip up in their cover now.

Sasha asks, "Should I make sure he doesn't do anything stupid?" Hamid nods. Well, that's two problems taken care of, at least. Oscar should keep Sasha from any stabbing, and Sasha should keep Wilde from any undue flirting. 

Zolf should be fine on his own, and Bertie needs to be kept away from anyone too influential or unfriendly toward Englishmen, so Hamid takes the knight's hand and says, "Let's go find the snack table." Bertie beams at him and follows easily enough, which lifts a weight off of Hamid's shoulders.

About half an hour later, Sasha pokes at Hamid's shoulder. "Wilde got kicked out," she tells him, and Hamid nearly chokes on his champagne.

 _"What?"_ Once the coughing has subsided, "why? What did he do?"

Sasha shrugs. Bertie, preoccupied with a cheese plate, seems unaware of the discussion. "He hit on the host for like, fifteen minutes straight. I mean. Not straight." Hamid sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Isn't the host married?"

Sasha gets a very dreamy look on her face. "Yeah," she sighs, "his wife stabbed Wilde in the hand with a fork for trying to steal her husband." Hamid stares at her. Sasha can't seriously be mooning over a woman who stabbed a man with a fork, can she?

(What the hell is Hamid thinking, of _course,_ she is.)

Hamid wishes anyone else in the party had so much as a _grain_ of common sense.


	2. +one

"It's not my fault I never learned how to tie a tie," Zolf grumbles, and Hamid rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "I saw that." Hamid huffs a laugh, and Zolf can feel Hamid's breath on his neck. Honestly, considering how close Hamid is, and how warm his hands are even through Zolf's shirt collar, it's a minor miracle he's not a stammering idiot.

Hamid's been anxious all day. Probably worried about being distracting enough that no one notices the weapons and meritocratic identifications they're all going to attempt to smuggle in. Zolf's pretty sure he'll be fine. If there's one thing Hamid excels at, it's being distracting. His hands are a little shaky around the black material of Zolf's tie. "You're lucky I agreed to help you at all," Hamid teases. 

He adjusts the lengths, some, and Zolf gives him a deeply unamused look before tipping his head back up so that the halfling can have enough room to work. "Worst case scenario, I could always go ask Wilde. He's been eager enough to be touchy." Hamid's hands still, and Zolf looks down at him. His face is contorted strangely. The same way it was when Wilde was being generally obnoxious at the first ball, and when Wilde offered to dance with him. 

Hamid's lips are pressed together in a thin line as he fusses with Zolf's tie. And maybe it's cruel, but Zolf needs to prove to himself (and his stupid, hopeful heart that really should have learned better by now) that Hamid's just annoyed. "Actually, I considered asking him first." Hamid hums noncommittally, but there's a slight edge to it that echoes in the way he tugs just a bit too sharply at the fabric in his hands. "I mean, I know _he_ definitely knows how to tie a tie. You always magic yours on, so I wasn't sure." Hamid's lips press together further as he begins folding one end over the other.

Hamid mutters, "If you doubt my ability, I'm sure Oscar would be happy to help pick up the slack. Seeing as he's _so wonderful,"_ and Zolf stares at him in mild shock. Hamid seems to notice, because he looks up at Zolf and snaps, "What?"

"You're jealous."

Hamid blanches. "No I'm not," he denies hurriedly, focusing back on the tie. Zolf raises his eyebrows. "Don't look at me like that!" 

Zolf looks above Hamid's head, the same expression still on his face. "What are you jealous of?"

The tie pulls him just a bit closer to Hamid. On accident, of course, because Hamid's nervous fidgeting is shortening the length from his hands to Zolf's neck. "Nothing!" Zolf furrows his brow.

"Do Wilde's superior tie skills make you envious, or something?"

"He doesn't have superior tie skills," Hamid sniffs.

Zolf fights back a laugh at the dismissal in his tone. "That's not the question I asked." Hamid continues fussing with the tie, not deigning to answer. His hands are less shaky, but he must be distracted because the whole thing loops through itself and Hamid has to start all over. "Is it because he doesn't have to go to this stupid party thing?" Hamid directs a glare at Zolf's collar.

"I don't want to talk about him." Zolf scoffs. He's _curious_ now, and he wants to know. Hamid's not getting rid of him that easy.

"Why not?"

"Because you're _not his,"_ Hamid snarls, with a ferocity that Zolf was wholly unprepared for, "you're _mine."_

(...uh.)  
(Zolf is—)  
(Zolf might need a minute to process that.)

Hamid freezes as soon as the words leave his mouth. Zolf, who has not finished processing, asks, "Yours?"

Hamid must have tangled his fingers in the tie, or something, because when he tries to take a step back, Zolf gets dragged with him. Hamid stutters, "Um. I-I—"

(Zolf's brain finally restarts, and okay, he can work with this.)

"Technically, I'm still your boss," Zolf points out.

Hamid winces back slightly. "I– yes, I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Except Zolf cuts him off because if he's actually going to say whathe's trying to, he's going to need to get it out _very quickly._ "So I think that'd mean _you_ would be _mine._ " Hamid blinks up at him, eyes wide. Zolf doesn't think he misread this, but he still covers, "If those are the, uh—" Hamid's eyes flick down— "the words we're using." 

(Is Hamid staring at his mouth?)

"N-No," Hamid mumbles. His mouth works for a second before he clears his throat and says, clearer, "I don't think that sounds right. I liked it better the first time."

"That so?"

Hamid's winding the tie around his hand, drawing Zolf in closer and closer. "Yes," Hamid says very softly, "it is." Zolf doesn't think he's reading this wrong, (prays to god he's not reading this wrong) but he doesn't quite know how to lean in. How to put a hand on the back of Hamid's neck without tangling himself or stumbling. How to—

he's saved from himself when the door cracks open. "So, how's the tie–" 

_"GET OUT,"_ shrieks Hamid.

Wilde's eyebrows raise. "Took you two long enough," he says with a _crooked fucking smirk_ that Zolf really, really hates before taking his head out of the doorway and shutting the door behind him.

There's a beat of silence.

"He ruins everything," Hamid declares dully, and Zolf can't help but laugh at how _furious_ Hamid is. "What? He does! Stop laughing!" Zolf does no such thing. Hamid sighs, and Zolf can practically _hear_ him rolling his eyes. He grins at Hamid, who clicks his tongue disappointedly, and that's all the warning Zolf gets before Hamid pulls him down and kisses him.

Zolf does, regretfully, have to push Hamid back after a while. "You never did tie my tie," Zolf points out, and Hamid makes a very guilty noise as he starts attempting to smooth out the wrinkled mess that is Zolf's tie.

**Author's Note:**

> :3c i'm on tumblr @roswyrm hit me up, send me prompts, give me affection and attention!!!


End file.
